A Pawn In His Game
by cobradette
Summary: You hear that, Mail Jeevas? You tell anyone about this, or if you try to run or get away from me, you die.' Slight OOCness. Rated for abuse and language.


If Maya owned Death Note, Light and L would have sex in the corner and Mello and Matt wouldn't die. Since that is not the case, Mayas doesn't own Death Note.

* * *

I blinked up at the man in front of me, sweat colliding and mixing with tears on my cheeks. I could feel my hair matting up from all the dried blood.

Who was this person in front of me? He was not the person in which I had all those wonderful memories with. His blue eyes no longer held the warmth they did all those years ago, and his smile was replaced with a lethal grimace and snarl.

"My dear Mattykins.. you know how much I love you, right?" Mello's voice called, ricocheting off of walls and bouncing to my eardrums over in the corner. He was staring at a lamp completely and utterly fascinated while I struggled with the binds on my hands and feet.

"Fuck you. You don't love me!" I snarled, attempting to break free of the vices and failing. Mello's ice cold blue eyes switched from the lamp and to my face, and a tiny smile fell upon his lips. It wasn't a smile of warmth and kindness; it was more of a smirk and a snarl combined.

"But _you_ love _me,_" he stated, his voice extremely monotonous, followed by tsking noises as if that was the worst decision I could of ever made in my life.More tears rolled down my cheeks involuntarily as I looked up at him. He'd gone back to poking around at the lamp.

"You're lucky, you bastard! I'd go to the cops if it wasn't for my feelings!" I yelled, my throat responding with multiple sharp, painful throbs.

"The cops would never find me," he responded calmly, exhaling before turning around to completely face me. "I was in the Mafia, which was one of the most deadliest and wanted groups in the United States. They never caught me, nor did they ever figure out my name or what I look like, or even my alias. If you went to the police, Mail, they wouldn't find me and I'd kill you."

After Mello's spiel he turned back around to the lamp and began unscrewing the lit light bulb, his leather gloves protecting his fingers from the heat. Once the hot object was resting in his palms, he smiled at me with an evil sparkle in his eye, and began walking towards me.

"You hear that, Mail Jeevas? You tell anyone about this, or if you try to run or get away from me, you die." he whispered in my ear. I opened my mouth to protest, and what I felt next was searing pain as the light bulb's heat burned my tongue, my lips, and everything else it was touching.

I writhed, struggling against the binds ad Mello's grip on the bulb. Tears began pouring down my cheeks even faster, and I was attempting to scream from the pain. He just kept looking at me like it was the best thing he'd ever seen. After a moment that seemed like an eternity, the blond removed the light bulb, throwing it against the wall on the other side of the room.

My mouth burned and I could taste copper as blood started to drip from m bottom lip. "You.. bastard." I coughed, glaring up at him.

"Sticks and stones shall break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Mello laughed, reaching behind me to untie the ropes from my wrists, and then my ankles.

"Just remember my warning," he whispered in my ear, the smell of chocolate and alcohol floating around my nostrils, "you tell anyone and you're dead."

He pulled me up by my hair, and I bit back a moan of pain, causing another searing pain shiver through my whole body at the action of biting my charred lip. He smiled ever so sickeningly sweet at me, then pushed me with all of his strength against the wall. I hit it with violent force, and I moaned, the world in front of me spinning. I heard chuckling and then a door slam.

I staggered onto my feet as my head performed some sort of salsa dance with my vision, twisting and turning and making me dizzy. I stumbled my way from the corner of our apartment, which was stained with my blood, and into the bedroom I shared with him. I fumbled to find the bed and when I did I laid down, exhausted.

I never really thought about how Mello had become so abusive. He'd been together for roughly about six years, and I had thought our relationship was completely and utterly perfect. Then, about two and a half years ago, the love of my life started to drink more than he ate chocolate. I know something had started bothering him, but I still fail to know what. I'm guessing it was something to do with the Kira case.

Anyway, Mello had always been violent sober, so it didn't surprise me that he was one of the most angriest drunks I have ever seen. He hit me when he was drunk, and I didn't really mind; we all had our own ways of dealing with problems and he was drunk and couldn't control what he was doing.

Then, he started hitting me when he was sober. It shocked me, the cruel things he said to me when he hadn't been drinking. His temper was even worse now, and it took a lot less to trigger his explosive outbursts.

For the past two and a half years, I've been living in fear. Mello has gone as far as stabbing me before, always being so careful to not cut so deep that I'd die of blood loss. I've been starved and raped and tortured and beaten and talked down to and treated like shit. I want to get out but that four fucking letter word kept me from leaving.

I love Mello. I love Mihael Keehl. I love this asshole who is killing me.

I've watched the American talk shows where people were in abusive relationships and said they couldn't get out of it, and the talk show hosts never really understood why when they said because they loved the person abusing them. They were wondering how you could love someone after all those things they'd done to you. I know what all those people feel like. You love the person hurting you because you're so damn convinced that this is just a phase and that they'll return to the person you fell in love with.

I hate hope. I hate love. I hate dreaming that the blond haired ex-Mafia member will ever be the same again. You want to know something? I _**know**_ Mello won't change, but a small thread of hope in my brain won't let me accept it.

I snapped myself out of my trance full of incoherent thoughts and listened for the sound of anything signaling his arrival. I sighed, somewhat content with relief, and got up to examine myself in the bathroom mirror.

I had dried blood caked and matted in my naturally disheveled red hair, and bruises all along my collar bone, neck, and arms. There were several cuts along my face as well, and I shuddered. I had to consider myself lucky, however. I've had worse.. much, much worse.

After I cleaned myself up and I looked like a normal human being who had been climbing a tree and fell out, hitting themselves with branches, I left the bathroom and went to the living room to find my goggles. After several long moments, I found the lovely things and put them on, my vision becoming obscured by the orange tint.

I gulped back tears when I staggered over to the phone in the kitchen, remembering what Mello had told me. _You tell anyone and you die. _Believe it or not, I actually enjoy living, but I had to talk to someone. Not necessarily tell them what was going on, but talk nonetheless. I needed to hear a voice that didn't belong to a certain chocolate eating blondie.

I blinked, reaching for the phone and dialing in the number. On the third ring, someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Roger? It's Matt."

"Matt? Good to hear from you! How are things?" Roger sounded surprised to hear from me and I didn't blame him. It'd been five years.

"Things are... fine," I choked out the last word, "Hey, Roger, is L there?"

"No, I'm sorry. He's working on the Kira case, remember?"

Duh. "Right, sorry. Then, by chance, do you have Near's current number in which I can contact him at?"

"Yes I do, Matt. Here, let me get it for you."

After a minute or so, I said my goodbyes to the Wammy's House director and hunt them, then picked up the receiver again and dialed Near's number.

"Hello, this is Gevanni."

Gevanni? "Erm.. hello Gevanni. Any chance in which I may speak to Near?"

"May I ask who this is?"

"A friend from Wammy's House."

That seemed to be the password for the officer told me he'd connect me right away.

After a little bit of elevator music in the receiver and me idly tapping my foot and listening for any sounds of Mello's return, I heard Near's voice.

"Who is this?" it was a monotonous as ever, but he sounded kind of busy. Damn it.

"Hey, Near," I gulped, forgetting what I had called for.

"Matt?" he sounded as if he couldn't believe his own ears, and slightly confused. I bet he was expecting Mello.

"Hi."

"Why are you calling? How did you get this number?"

"Roger gave it to me. I need to talk, but then again there's a huge consequence if he finds out." I stuttered, my voice shaking as I listened for a motorcycle engine.

"What would you like to talk about?"

"Er, it has to do with Mello..."

"Yes?"

At that moment, I heard boots running up the steps. So he had taken my car? Just lovely.

I couldn't put the phone down fast enough. "MATT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! ARE YOU TELLING SOMEBODY? ARE YOU GOING TO DIE? DO YOU WANT TO DIE?" he yelled, anger covering every amp of his voice.

"Mello? Matt, what's going on?" Near asked, worry obvious in his voice.

"Shit. I gotta go Near!" I said and hung up the phone.

I turned around, facing the wrath of Mello in the face. I closed my eyes and braced myself, ready for the pain that was sure to come. It always did.


End file.
